The Muggle Tradition of Kissing Under the Mistleto
by imagine.life.sweeter
Summary: There was a girl and boy sitting in the common room one night close to Christmas. She was reading; he was watching her read. Rated K, because there is nothing naughty going on. A Romione one-shot.


**Hi everyone; Chantal here. I just recently finished reading the Harry Potter series for the first time (as in a few hours ago) and, seeing as I have not enough time to write a full chapter for one of my current stories due to preparations for Benefactor's Week here at school, I decided to write a Romione (Is that their shipper name? It is for me.) one-shot. I apologize in advance for any errors. For timing purposes, this is set around Christmastime in Year 4.**

She was curled up in a cushy chair, reading a book by the light of the roaring fire. Her hair appeared as red as that of the boy who sat across from her, but those who really knew her knew that the mass of tangled curls were really brown. She tried to concentrate on her lesson prep; after all, who knew when one of their professors would give them an unannounced quiz on Muggle holiday traditions? However she kept getting distracted by the boy.

He, too, was curled up on a chair by the fire. Howver, he was not studying as he should have been. He pretended to be interested in the moving picture on the wall that their Head of House, Professor Monagall, had been playing all day long. His teacher had said it was very popular among Muggle teenagers, but he was not interested in the average Muggle teenager. Only one.

The girl looked up from her book, startled to find her friend staring at her, quite intently. He immediately flushed and looked away. She smiled slightly, only for a moment; had you not been looking, you would have missed it. She turned back to her book and resumed reading.

The next paragraph was about a Muggle Christmas tradition she had forgotten about: kissing under the mistletoe. Sometimes, it was easy for her to forget about the small Muggle traditions from back home. When she was here, with mainly half- and pure-blood wizards and witches, it was fun to pretend that she was just like them. She reread the paragraph several times. Then she looked up again and let out a loose laugh. The boy looked up at her.

"What is it, Hermione?" he asked, irratated. She had made him lose track of how many light freckles dotted her nose. She showed him the traditions listed in her text. The last one was the one she wanted him to notice, the one about the mistletoe. After looking at them, he rolled his eyes.

"Really?" he laughed upon reading them all, "Muggles really decorate their Christmas trees with, uh, strings of popcorn and candy canes? What are candy canes, anyway?" He ran one hand through his wavy red hair and redraped the blanket across his lap.

"Candy canes are sticks of peppermint in the shape of canes, and I was not talking about that one, Ron," sighed Hermione. "I meant the one about mistletoe. How interesting, right? I mean, I don't think a single person here at Hogwarts has ever kissed someone under the mistletoe." He rolled his eyes.

"You're just attached to all those Muggle traditions because both of your parents are ones."

"I am not! I think it is a sweet, romantic tradition," she sniffed, closing her book and tossing it to the table between them with a bang. "Not that you would know." He stood up, the carefully adjusted blanket sliding to the ground. He did not bother to pick it up.

"What's that supposed to mean?" he asked, his voice rising. She stood up to face him, her head barely reaching the height of his neck. She had never realized how tall Ron had gotten over the years. She tried to stand tall, but her will to argue about how little experience he had had seemed to slip away when she looked up into his eyes, and saw the fireplace reflected back with the warmth of his heart.

"What I mean," she began, walking towards the girls' dormitory, "is that you do not seem to have a bone in your body that has been loved by that of the opposite gender." She could her his footsteps soft on the plush carpet behind her. She whipped her head around when she reached the door, surprised that he had not come up with a witty retort yet. She found him staring at her again, silhouetted by the fireplace. The toom seemed to grow quieter, warmer. She wondered where the rest of her Gryffindors were, for no one had yet returned from their free time.

At least, so she thought. While Heromione and Ron seemed frozen in time, staring at each other just outside the dormitory door, their good friend had poked his head in to see if they were there. Sensing what was going to lead to an arguement, he had listened to their conversation. When he had a moment, a moment when neither was really looking, just mesmerized by the other, he had used a little creative spell learned to create a sprig of mistletoe hanging above the pair. Then, with a slight smile much like the girl's before, he had ducked away to rejoin the festivities.

"What?' Hermionie finally asked, after they had stood there for a moment. Before she could say another word, Ron leaned in and kissed her on the lips. It was a soft, tender kiss. When he pulled away, she hit him on the arm.

"Why would you do that?" she exclaimed, trying not the blush, for she was not sure if it was from pleasure or disapproval. He smiled at her and pointed to the ceiling above them, where the sprig of mistletoe sprinkled with holly berries and a red satin bow hung, twisting in the warm glow of the fireplace.

"I thought you liked the Muggle holiday traditions, Hermionie," he said softly, then turned on his toes and went into the boys' dormitory. The girl smiled and looked up again. The mistletoe seemed to shine brightly. She let out a giggle of excitement.

Maybe being a Muggle had its perks, after all.

**Merry Benefactor's Week, everyone! Read & review for me and my poor, tired brain.**

**xo, Chantal**


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